Aaah, you lucky people who have a real shed. I can only dream of a real shed. You know, with the cobwebs over the windows, the door that sometimes conveniently sticks, the nail you always catch your cardi on, the half-used bag of cement in the corner which has handily solidified into perfectly circular indentations for cans of ale.
All I have is a room in the northwest corner of the house, which I fondly call my "den", in which I can never find anything I'm looking for. That is a sheddy trait, no doubt, but a trait doth not an outbuilding make.
If I had a real shed, I'd be doing all the stuff I was never allowed to do, being a girl. I wish they still did Meccano kits. But then I'd be overrun by all and sundry, probably including putative grandchildren, equally intent on such fun.
I've learned all I dream know about sheds from here:
www.uk-rec-sheds.org.uk/ - the faq is particularly amusing erudite confusing.